


Evil Arises and These Four Idiots are the Saviors

by CustomizableHotdogBread



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Fights, Magic, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CustomizableHotdogBread/pseuds/CustomizableHotdogBread
Summary: Fate works in strange ways. People’s destinies merge into one, weaving together in a complex web of unpredictable outcomes. What was supposed to be a simple, quick interrogation only leads to bigger things these four fools could have never imagined. Stuck together (reluctantly), they traverse the lands, battle fierce beasts, and try not to kill each other. Wanting nothing but to go on their own ways, only for each little adventure to bury them deeper into a pit of the unknown.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	Evil Arises and These Four Idiots are the Saviors

Nestled in a valley of the Fostbit Mountains, surrounded by the lush forest that remained green year round, lies the cozy little village of Brightcreek. Small shops and stands line the deserted dirt streets. Horses whinny from the stables, a cart’s rickety old wheels roar as it races to its destination. Only those sounds fill the tranquil silence.  
While the place would usually bustle with life, the day was coming to the end, signaled by the oranges of the sky transforming to dimmer hues as the sun sinks beyond the horizon. People gather with family in the modest cottages, perhaps huddled around a fire to fend off the relentless chill. 

Brightcreek isn’t a place that serves any significance to the outside world, but those who call it home do so proudly. It’s a perfect place for whoever is seeking to settle down. What it lacks in importance it makes up by the neighborly attitudes of the residents. The few that know of it know it for the tight-knit community who treat each other like family. Along with that, being tucked so far into the mountains, danger is the last thing on the locals’ mind, and they have enough supplies to live more than comfortably.

It’s perfect.

Quin has to resist the urge to gag as his distaste manifests physically. He hated this place so much; it was too perfect.. No one here has faced the horrors that lie just beyond the sanctuary of the forest. No, everything here was rainbow and sunshine. Perhaps they were just oblivious. Or they ignore anything that threatens their happy little world. Quin doesn’t know which pisses him off more. The only reason he was staying in this place was because the light snowfall floating down to earth was threatening to evolve into something much worse. Which landed him here, where he’s stuck hunkered down till the storm passed.

A growl resonates within his throat, fist clenching tighter around the empty mug. The drinks hadn’t eased the temper as he had hoped. All they did was make his head spin and worsen his moodiness. He despised this place with a burning passion. If only the colorful interior and cheerful atmosphere could lighten the male’s mood. The setting was upsetting; it’s like the place is mocking him. The warm-colored walls, the multicolored fires that illuminated the tavern in a dazzling display, the light-hearted music. All that was just taunts. Everything there was just to remind him of the terrors this world wrought.

Anger is threatening boil over if one more inconvenience happens upon him. Merely looking at the Kornuan man funny could send him into a fit. A look similar to the small bartender’s who has been casting wary glances for the past 5 minutes. That would drive him crazy. Quin shoots a glare in his direction, prompting a squeak from the smaller, large-eyed male who, seeing the heated look, promptly spins around to return to his work of washing tankards.   
  
Ridiculous thoughts enter his mind. Accusations that man’s unease stemmed from the fact that Quin was a Kornu. Being mistaken for a demon is a constant nuisance that comes with the gray horns and long, thick tail. They are unmistakably different, Kornuans look more human than hellish, yet that doesn’t seem to hamper the onslaught of hate crimes by cretinous, narcissistic bigots who cannot distinguish those differences.   
  
So the timid little bartender is a racist scumbag. It’s not as if there’s a man twice his height, growling and pissed at nothing and could probably snap his neck with ease if he wanted. Nah, it’s racism.  
  
Quin nearly knocks the chair over by the force of him suddenly standing. The raucous clinking of tableware drawing curious glances to the man who’s already hurrying off to the ‘comfort’ of his room. The only comfort here is being somewhere where he’s alone. 

Rays of moonlight that filtered through the crack and holes of the faded, maroon curtain pierce the darkness of the room. The shadowy interior that the light can’t quite reach is nearly black and shadows morph into it, twisting shapes that resemble creatures from a nightmare. Quin doesn’t bother to revive the flame in the lanterns, not as if he needs it.   
The old oak wood flooring creaks under him as he stumbles to the bed. It dips beneath the man, groaning a similar protest under the weight. 

It’s no surprise that visitors are sparse in Brightcreek. What is unexpected however is who seems to pass through and traverse Fosbit’s dangerous terrain. Judging by the sad excuse of a bed, their usual patrons must be smaller folk because it barely provides adequate legroom for the taller man. Maybe some daring dwarfish merchants? 

His hands brush against damp grimy sheets, the sensation causing a grimace to contort his expression. He wipes his hands clean on his shirt, hoping whatever was on them is off. Quin tosses the sheets, discarding them on the floor before flopping down with a grunt. As he buries his face into the less than fluffy pillow, a muffled groan comes. it's no better than the dang sheets. With a disgusted huff, he decides to just deal with it. It won’t kill him.. Hopefully.

His body begs for sleep, struggling to carry on after 3 restless nights. Quin is more than happy to comply with its demands (despite the disgusting conditions of the room). Eyes are heavy with sleep. The moment they shut, he dozes off into peaceful slumber.

Creak creak ho.

Immediately His eyes shoot open, darting frantically in search of whatever dangers may be lurking. His instincts tell him to get up, out of his prone position. Muscles twitch in anticipation of a fight, screaming desperately to be put to use. Unfortunately for them, exhaustion and Quin’s little remaining willpower keeps the body still.

Moments pass...

Even in his half-awake state, every sense is on the prowl. Each nearly inaudible creak or flicker of the flame from one candle grabs his undivided attention. Brown eyes narrowed and trained in the disruption's direction as he studied the details and determined whether it’s worth the attention.

But there’s nothing.

Quin takes a few uneven breaths as he begins, “One. Two-”

Thump-thump

The Kornu’s body goes stiff. His breath hitches.

Footfalls... Heavy, muffled footsteps echo off the aged wooden interior, making it difficult to pinpoint where it’s coming from. Ears perked as the sound gets quieter or louder. It’s almost impossible to determine where they are, or where they are moving.

Where are they?

A frustrated growl resonates in his chest. He couldn’t rely on the sound. 

Quin takes a whiff of the musty air and is greeted by an overwhelming number of stenches. The pungent scents of alcohol, people and many unpleasantries sting his curved, wedge-shaped nose that scrunches up instinctively. The intruding scents mingle together in an amalgamation of odors, making it difficult to pick apart what scents came from where. The only thing that can be pointed to his room is some mold, though the whereabouts are unknown. The distinct smell of someone directly in the male’s room absent. No one. So where did the sound come from? Why can he hear someone walking in his room?

Dark brows knit together, thoughts racing through his mind as they try to make sense of what’s going on. 

Maybe they’re invisible?

“One. two. Three”

Or someone slipped some kinda hallucinogen into my drink?

“Four, five, six- ow!” Quin hisses as his sharp tooth penetrates the delicate skin of his fingertips. Biting nails was becoming a habit.

He shakes his head and continues counting and theorizing. 

What if I’m just delusional? 

As he reaches eleven, the counting comes to an abrupt halt and he slaps himself on the forehead at the realization. “They’re above you, imbecile” he grumbles. 

The conclusion allows Quin’s muscles to loosen. His dirty hand runs through the dark unkempt tangles of his hair, only to get caught on a knot which earns an irritated huff as he frees himself.

When did it get so long? Quin keeps meaning to get it cut, but every attempt to get one the Kornu backs out at the last minute. Sure it can be a bother to maintain but the majority of the time he simply pulls it back into a low ponytail. Long hair won’t kill him.

Despite the relief that came with solving the mystery, Quin’s nerves have yet to fully still, his heart continues to bash against his ribs, and paranoia rages on. But the Fatigue was eating away at his physical and mental state. He didn’t want to give in but exhaustion was getting the better of him, his eyes becoming unbearably weighted with sleep. Maybe he was doing something right? Was he going to be able to sleep for once?

Maybe ill finally get my crap together in this dingy stupid inn.

“One, two, three, fo-”

Tap tap tap

Or not.

Quin, much to his body’s dismay, swings his legs over the side of the bed. Every move draws a pained groan from the poor undersized bed. If it were sentient, it would rejoice when the weight lifts.

A gray tail speckled with white sweeps across the floor, brushing against the bed frame then trailing it across it till it hits the bedside table. Not wanting to turn his back on the possible intruder, his hand finds the table, sliding on the surface until they find the cold hard metal of a blade. A stronger sense of security comes with the hilt of the dagger firmly in his grasp.

Before each step, Quin tests the boards to see whether they’ll make a noise. Not for the sake of stealth, rather eliminate the possibility of mistaking his noise for someone else’s.

It’s probably nothing...  
“One,” the blade turns in his sweaty palms. Would he stand a chance against any threat that wished to harm him while he’s in such a weird… state.

But what if it is something?  
“Two,” Every step leaves quin’s weaker, his arms grow heavy, and the once weightless dagger suddenly becomes impossible to hold.

“Three,” The blade clatters to the ground, but Quin pays no heed. He needs to find the source of the tapping. He needs to know.

With Quin’s next step, his knees buckle sending him careening into the freezing window. He stays there for a moment, pressed up against it until the cold becomes unbearable. As he pulls away and wipes off where his breath fogged up the glass, his brow raises to see it’s unscathed and covered in frost from the storm outside.

Tap tap Tap.

“Oh..”   
Another mystery solved... The culprit? Hail. Hail is pelting the building...

Any dignity the man may have had is now gone. An echo and hail are what’s been screwing up his night. 

Embarrassed and defeated, Quin attempts to hobble back to bed. He doesn’t make it more than a couple of steps before his quaking legs give out once more, sending him straight towards the floor. He throws his hands up over his face, bracing himself for the impact…

No impact comes...

The kornu furrows his brow, one eye opens into a slit only to widen to a comical size. The floor was but mere inches from his face. As a matter of fact, the floor was inches away from his entire body...

Quin is levitating.

This doesn’t last. The very moment he processes what is happening, the arcane energy dissipates and once again the floor is heading straight for him. But yet again the floor never greets him. Something takes a firm hold of his collar, yanking him up. With the pressure on his throat, all Quin can manage is a strangled yelp.

The muscles twitch again. His fist clenches and unclenches at his sides, but his arms refuse to move. Every limb feels heavy like weights have been stuck to them. Quin wants to look the attacker in the eye, he wants to show some sense of bravery and show them his own furious gaze. But his head hangs low, the blur of his boots and the floor receiving the glare instead.

His brain is screaming at the rest of his limp body. Demanding it to retaliate, to fight back, to not submit. The thought of giving in sickened Quin, the similar nauseous feeling from earlier to return, this time accompanied by dread. 

It’s not a choice.

Something warm, something soft, something that would be a welcomed comfort makes Quin’s blood run cold. A hand, with surprising delicacy, takes hold of the man’s unshaven chin and lifts his head. The small movement sends a throbbing pain coursing through his head. He hisses softly, biting the inside of his cheek. Dark spots dance into his blurring vision, almost completely obscuring the Holder’s features. Almost everything but that shiny, Cheshire-cat grin.

“Pleasure to meet you Mr.Auyerhoff, sir.”

Quin doesn’t know what he expected his voice to sound like, he just knows that he hadn’t anticipated that deep, silvery voice. It would’ve been unbelievable, but as the man continues the voice belongs to him, “Though this may have been more preferable under different circumstances,” He chuckles, laying Quin on the floor with great care.

This is a bit condescending.

He musters enough strength to cast a glare, however, the brave front is destroyed when Quin involuntarily squeaks.  
‘Cheshire’ had knit his hands into his hair, completely catching the kornu by surprise. If it weren’t for his body completely giving up on him, this man’s hands would be gone by now. But all he can manage is to curl his lip and force a pathetic excuse of a snarl.

He ignores Quin and continues to run his hand through his hair, “You should cut your hair, Quin. Or at the very least wash it. No offenses, but it is quite filthy,” Mr. Judgemental giggles, removing his hand from the tangles to trace a finger along Quin’s sharp jawline.

A shiver runs down his spine at the undesirable touches.

Hands. Hands all over him

Touching him.

Get off. Get off.

A pat on the face snaps his attention back to ‘Cheshire’. “You heard me, Quin?”

Quin ignores him, and he just shrugs and hefts up the kornu effortlessly, tossing him onto his shoulder, “I know you’re bound to have numerous questions regarding your current situation, but I can assure you they will all be answered in due time. As of right now, time is short. Plus you are like, half-conscious so you would not be able to maintain everything in your noggin. And I’m really really really sorry about this.”

The next series of events happen all at once.

Shattering, glass piercing his back, the once pure blanket of snow now tainted with red and bodies approaching rapidly. Orange... Then cold and darkness...

The warm sunny town of Brightcreek is now up in flames...


End file.
